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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063153">every beloved child</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstriker/pseuds/starstriker'>starstriker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(for Elurin and Elured), Angst, Babysitting, Family Fluff, Fëanorian Week 2021, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Maedhros typical self hatred, Self-Hatred, Tyelpë and Curufin are also there but not long enough for a tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:55:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstriker/pseuds/starstriker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maitimo, as the eldest of his generation, has always been his family's natural choice for a babysitter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elrond Peredhel &amp; Elros Tar-Minyatur &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Turgon of Gondolin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>every beloved child</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! I used Quenya names in the first three sections, so if you'd like a quick reference I put one in the end notes. Also, if you're just here for fluff, the only angst is in the final section after Celebrimbor's. Thanks for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“He’s so small,” Maitimo marvelled, ignoring the fact that he himself still had to stand on the tips of his toes to get a good look at the inside of the cradle – and already, he was tall for his age. It was true, though. Makalaurë was a small baby, but with a piercing wail that seemed ill-matched for his size. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Atar chuckled and lifted him up a little, seeing how he was trying so hard not to shift the wrong way and accidentally rock the cradle. Although his dignity protested, Maitimo grudgingly acknowledged that this was preferable to his shaky stance before. It was just them, for now – Ammë was somewhere resting, happy to let someone else watch over the newborn. “And little Makalaurë won’t have just his atya’s protection, now will he?” she had said, affectionately ruffling his russet hair just a few shades off from her own. His heart had swelled with pride then, and any fears of being forgotten in the rush to care for his little brother had faded away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they watched over him, his little grey eyes began to open, and Atar gently set him down to pick up Makalaurë before he could start to cry and wake Ammë. An idea seemed to occur to him as he did so, and he smiled down at Maitimo. “Do you want to try holding him?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Maitimo froze, because he didn’t know if he did want to or not. Makalaurë still looked so fragile, and the idea of hurting his brother – even accidentally – made his heart hurt in return. But Atar guided his arms, helping him support his little brother’s weight, and there seemed to be no risk of him falling at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” he whispered, unwilling to disrupt the moment with too much noise. “I’m Maitimo. I’m your brother. I’m going to help protect you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he did, for as long as he was able to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow – and Maitimo still wasn’t sure how – he had ended up being charged with the care of little Turukáno, who was one of the quietest children he’d ever met. Then again, perhaps it was unfair to judge him against the standard of your usual Finwean – Makalaurë, Findekáno, Tyelkormo, and even little Carnistir and Findaráto all ranged from ‘incredibly chatty’ to ‘growly’, but none of them were truly quiet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Turukáno, however…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was the fact that Maitimo was so tall? But no – he wasn’t taller than his uncle, although Atar often (and loudly, and publicly) said that he would be someday. Turukáno must really just be a quiet child. It was almost a welcome change of pace – if he so wished, he could even read or write while just looking over occasionally to ensure that he hadn’t run off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The trouble was, he also wasn’t an easily distractible child. He wasn’t yet at the age where he’d be entranced by longer books, and Carnistir had downright glowered at Maitimo when he’d suggested that he might like to play with his cousin, since they were so close in age. Knowing his littlest brother well enough to know when to back off, he retreated back to his study and Turukáno with little clue what to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh – maybe those would work? His ammë had made these smooth wooden blocks, but not in the shape of ordinary squares and rectangles – no, these were shaped slightly differently, made to slot together to create model houses and towns. They’d captured his attention well enough as a child, but none of his brothers had yet taken the same shine to them. They were likely still around here somewhere… ah, there, at the top of the shelf. He could see the cheerful colors of the paint on the box they were stored in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully maneuvering them down from the shelf, he knelt down next to Turukáno and opened it up. Immediately, the little boy’s eyes were glued to its content, shuffling closer to get a better look. “You might have seen something like this before,” Maitimo began, pulling out a few of the planks. “Do you see how they work? You can line up the notches to create buildings out of them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A chubby hand closed around one of them with surprising delicacy, and with only a little help Turukáno easily completed the sort of basic house that he once created over and over again. But after mastering the basics Maitimo saw how he extrapolated upon them, beginning to incorporate more complicated roofs and angles into his structures. Before long, he’d depleted the box, smiling as he sat on the ground surrounded by a mass of his creations.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then he scraped the inside of the box, seemingly not realizing that there was nothing left with which he could build. “Oh,” he said quietly, seemingly disappointed, and Maitimo saw how he looked at his houses and towers and wondered which one he would have to dismantle first.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” he started to soothe, standing up carefully so as not to disrupt the miniature town. “I think we have some more somewhere. I can go fetch the other box, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Turukáno’s smile grew again, and when Maitimo returned he’d arrange all his buildings into a carefully grid, spaces already left for new developments.</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With the twins grown, and no other cousins born for some time afterwards, Maitimo initially suspected that his days as a babysitter were over. But time passed, and before long his first nephew was born, a tiny darling thing that didn’t look quite as similar to his father as Atarinkë did, but still bore enough of his features to be unmistakably Feanorian. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Atarinkë loved his son very dearly, there was no mistaking that. But he was also incredibly busy these days, still frequently collaborating with Fëanáro and his own wife, and while little Tyelpë could now walk and babble in simple sentences he couldn’t be let loose in the forges yet (Maitimo had no doubt that as soon as he was old enough to recognize what would hurt him, he’d be ushered in by both of his parents). So every once in a while, his little brother would leave his son in the care of the only one of his uncles that really should be trusted around children.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not that Maitimo could blame him – if he had children, he doesn’t think he would like to leave them with Makalaurë, who meant well but was prone to being too absorbed in his music to pay attention to his surroundings. Nor would Tyelkormo be suitable, because he seemed certain that because he escaped off into the woods as soon as he knew they were there, every child should be the same. Carnistir </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>be alright with children – certainly, he liked the twins well enough – but Tyelpë seemed to be a rather sensitive child (it was sometimes entertaining watching the normally quite gruff Ristarë, his brother’s wife, soften her mannerisms for her son). And the twins seemed barely more than children themselves.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was almost nice having a curious child trailing Maitimo again, actually. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed holding someone tiny, once Ambarussa decided he was too big for that and started biting (Ambarto didn’t bite, but you could always tell he wanted to). Tyelpë was at the stage where he wanted to know what everything was and then poke at it with his chubby fingers, exploring it for himself. Just like Atarinkë once had, actually. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for looking after him, Nelyo,” said Atarinkë when he returned, reaching out to hold the now-sleeping Tyelpë with a delicacy that Maitimo rarely saw from him outside of the forge. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” he responded. “He’s already a lot like you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For some reason, Atarinkë frowned a little at that, looking into his son’s pale gray eyes. “Really?” It sounded neutral enough, but Maitimo could tell that somehow he’d said the wrong thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he knew how to make it better. “He’s curious, and very bright, and likes to hold every new thing he sees. You used to do the exact same thing – and you were so tiny!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With that, the tension was gone, and Atarinkë only rolled his eyes as his older brother’s annoying reminiscing. “Whatever you say, Nelyo.” But Maitimo swore he saw a tiny awkward smile on his little brother’s face as he absentmindedly rocked Tyelpë in his arms.</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a long time since anyone had thought to trust him with the care of any children, and he no longer had any intention to change that. Not even with the unfortunate arrival of two children, courtesy of his brother and the kinslaying at Sirion – his brother seemed to be wise enough, at least, to keep them well separated. He would never (willingly, he knows, remembering another set of twins) wish to hurt a child, but he has fallen so far from the one that people knew as Maitimo that he can hardly blame Maglor for being cautious.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which is why it is a surprise of the unpleasant variety instead of the welcome one when one – no, both, they’re just staggering their visits – of the children seems to take a liking to spying on him. At first, he thinks it might be some sort of childish dare. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who can get closest to the monster? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, knowing that his brothers would have once played such a game had there been any monsters to creep up on. He ignores them, although makes sure that he keeps track of where they are. These days, he reacts poorly to sudden, unexpected movement, and the same ability that allows him to keep himself safe on the battlefield might prove dangerous to the children. (Even now, there are still parts of his mind that remember how to keep a child safe.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They only approach him when they think he can’t see them, and even then rarely as a pair. Eventually, they take to more obviously watching him, and before long without anyone discouraging them they both sit quietly and watch him as he works. They don’t trail after him if he leaves their location, but while he listens to reports from scouts, or takes inventory, or brushes the few horses they have left (there aren’t enough of their people anymore to worry about former princes doing manual labor), they watch. He lets them. He’d do more harm if he talked to them, after all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It is after nearly a full month of this that he notices one of them – Elrond, he thinks, just because he’s forsworn interacting with them doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to Maglor when he speaks – approaches him cautiously, like one might approach a particularly skittish horse. He supposes the comparison isn’t all that inaccurate. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve been out here for a really long time,” says probably-Elrond. “Do you think we can go inside now? It’s a little cold, and me and Elros are hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maedhros supposed that it is cold, and it has been a while, but then he wonders why definitely-Elrond is asking him this at all. “You two should be with Maglor right now, shouldn’t you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elrond shrugs and shuffles his feet, kicking up a faint cloud of dust. “He said that you would watch us. Didn’t he say something?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At first, Maedhros only feels the familiar frustration that he associates with foolish, irresponsible little brothers. Then he feels quite angry, ire building in his chest, that Maglor could endanger his charges like this. But the children are hungry and – cold, they said, which sits poorly with him for reasons he chooses to push aside for the moment, so he cannot keep them outside, nor send them back with no supervision. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well,” he says grimly, turning from his task. “Come with me, you two.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Having children trailing after him, looking oddly excited, is still familiar to him. No matter, he thinks. This won’t become a habit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(By their second year, the twins take to calling him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Atya, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it feels crueler to deny them than to give in.) </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>

</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quenya names:</p>
<p>Maitimo/Nelyo - Maedhros<br/>Makalaurë - Maglor<br/>Tyelkormo - Celegorm<br/>Carnistir - Caranthir<br/>Atarinkë - Curufin<br/>Ambarto - Amrod (at least I'm 95% sure. Amrod and Amras's many names and backstories stilll make my head spin a little)<br/>Ambarussa - Amras<br/>Tyelpë (Tyelperinquar) - Celebrimbor</p>
<p>Findekáno - Fingon<br/>Turukáno - Turgon</p>
<p>Findaráto - Finrod </p>
<p>Ammë - mother<br/>Atar - father<br/>Atya - also father</p>
<p>Pretty sure that's everyone who's mentioned!</p>
<p>Thank you again for reading!! Please do kudos/comment if you liked it, it makes my day.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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